


戦争の舞||| My Antebellum Moon |||

by ChocolateCarnival



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Madara, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Founding of Konoha, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Omega Sasuke, Politically Isolated Uchiha, Possessive Behavior, Protective Uchiha Madara, Psychological Trauma, Reincarnation, Sasuke Grows Up as Madara's Student, Scenting, Set After Uchiha Massacre, Slow Build, Time Travel (Both Ways), Warring States Period (Naruto), Worldbuilding, eroticism, possible underage, α|β|Ω, 戦争の舞 - Senso no Mae - Dance of War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCarnival/pseuds/ChocolateCarnival
Summary: ‘Hallowed as the Crow flies, ‘ere the ashen strands of war and conflict
        forge thine heart in steel. Stand, Child of Our Ancestor, stand in thy
        likeness and dance upon the Moon.’ ~ Uchiha ProphecyThe night Uchiha Itachi subjected his little brother to the Uchiha
    Massacre, he awakened something that had not been seen in the Clan for
    centuries. Yet, with its rising, the innocence he had to be cruel to
    protect was propelled into the past.Now, forgotten and lost, there will come a time whenHereturns to
    his rightful hour. And with him comes the horror of their most powerful
    Forefather.
Relationships: Uchiha Madara/Uchiha Sasuke
Comments: 46
Kudos: 160





	1. 偃月一: The Lunar Crescent

**Author's Note:**

> *Sigh*, I should be too busy for this right now but this plot and story came out of nowhere. But seriously, I have a complex world building story to this one that I'm just itching to explore. It's been a long time since I've so free to play around. 
> 
> Either ways, my Honeys, I'm going to let you discover this one yourselves whilst I go catch up on all my lectures I missed and work I neglected to finish this. I did say I was going to continue my Madara x Sasuke obsession and here is part 2 of that obsession. I hope it is as well liked as my first story. 
> 
> Please Enjoy. :)

Inched in hatred and despair, Fire Country’s vast landscape once again rearranged itself in a monstrous quake of power. Mountains split in spewing pits of fire; manmade seismic waves birthing new rivers beneath spiralling ash as an ocean of mist rose across vast, chakra-enhanced, forests. Breathing life and destruction into the land in equal measure, twin figures – long passed physical exhaustion – finally drew their epic battle to a close. 

The Wood Sage was the first to crumble, twin palms unlocking from their offensive clasp as he wearily observed the ravaged shinobi caged in the breast of a towering chakra construct. The indigo avatar, _Susanoo,_ reigned supreme over these undulating mountaintops. The utterly distraught Uchiha Patriarch had poured all his grief and despair into his last attack, the explosion of chakra so vast and encompassing it split the very mountain in half. 

He was utterly drained however, so very _tired_ of war and destruction and _death_ that his soul howled painfully in the prison of his ribcage. Spiralling irises tilted dazedly to observe millennia-old craters punched in the surface of the moon, Eternal Mangekyō orbs vanishing beneath frantically clenched lids as premature lines of age creased the skin beneath long, black, lashes. 

Uchiha Madara was no fool, he could only wonder why the older Senju deemed it necessary to restrain his silver-haired brother from killing him outright. The βeta was practically frothing at the mouth to do so, enough so that Hashirama had to force his brother into submission with a warning growl. 

“It’s not to late to stop this, Madara. There can still be peace.” The other man said. “Our Clans do not need to carry this burden of hatred any longer.” And just like old times, his once-upon-time rival’s words carried far too much idealism and enthusiasm for Madara’s liking. He didn’t want to hear anymore empty promises…to live through death and betrayal and—. 

_No_ , this conversation was going against his very nature. 

Yet, as he teetered on the brink of chakra exhaustion and blissful unconsciousness, there was very little he could do but listen. The Uchiha Patriarch couldn’t leave his people to fight Hashirama’s monstrous strength by themselves, nor could he continue such a meaningless pursuit of violence simply for the sake of violence. The strain between their Clans had reigned supreme for far too many centuries already. 

It was time to push old grudges aside. 

Awash with despair at his brother’s recent death, the twenty-four-year-old Clan Leader struggled to contain the warning growl rumbling low in the back of his throat. He absolutely refused to make it easy for that _filth_ to revel in their victory, he couldn’t _stand_ the smug stoicism reflected on that bastard Tobirama’s face. 

“I’ll yield.” He hissed grudgingly. “Draw up the peace treaty, Senju. Just keep that beast away from me.” The last of his chakra crumbled _Susanoo’s_ intricate indigo armour, the flicker of a skeletal ribcage surrounding his injured frame as he stitched the mournful sight of a dimming moon in the back of his eyelids for eternity. 

A wild mane of hip-length black locks fanned in a messy wave behind him, his clan uniform concealing the pessimistic downturn of his lips as he tilted his head with grudging respect. A cautious leap landed the equally dishevelled Senju beside him, the brunette’s silken hair and skin weighed down with three-days’ worth of blood and grime. 

“You will not regret this, Madara. I promise.” The Uchiha refused to reply, merely staring blankly ahead as his sworn enemy healed his wounds and nattered on excitedly about establishing _their_ village. His jaw ground in frustration, feral canines dripping with the taste of iron and nickel as his ⍺lpha senses howled in protest against acquiescing any form of power to this undeniable moron. 

There was no doubt Uchiha Madara was a proud man, almost _too_ proud. Powerful shoulders never once drooped in despair, regardless of his precious brother having been slayed but a few days before or his clan’s reluctant support in his quest for revenge. Yet —for the Clan, for those he protected, for _Izuna_ — Madara _refused_ to show weakness. 

Lifting a gloved hand to swipe away a rivulet of blood assailing the corner of his mouth, Sharingan orbs never once loosened their stranglehold on Senju Tobirama scowling discontentedly a few paces behind his brother. If the man was just a little less cautious and a little more willing to look him in the eye, the Uchiha Patriarch would have no qualms about shattering the man’s oh-so-treasured mind in his _Tsukuyomi_. 

There was no telling where this endeavour would lead, there was no knowing what the future would bring or the obstacles they would face. Offering his enemy a near-imperceptible nod, the twenty-four-year-old forced himself to his feet as he valiantly tried to ignore the unexpected tumble nearly forcing him to his knees. 

There was nothing left to say between them, Madara wanted nothing more than to return home and drown himself in a sea of alcohol to forget the death of his brother. 

“We’ll resume negotiations tomorrow.” The Patriarch noted gruffly, promising to send a messenger to the Senju with a time and place as he turned on his heel and showed his back to his enemy. There was no need for either man to speak another word to understand each other, the battle they just survived told them more than enough. 

_* * * *_

Heading south towards the Naka-no-Kawa  [1]  with exhausted limbs and cautious footsteps, the Uchiha Lord had no choice but to prepare himself for another sleepless night. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive or forget what happened in that godforsaken gorge two weeks ago, nor did he want to believe his own inability to save someone so precious. 

The rumbling of the universe warred with his mind however, an earth-shaking tremor abruptly vibrating the soil beneath his feet as time slowed to a halt. 

Barely a _ri_ away from the cartographical ruins of their awe-inspiring battle, the moon’s rays abruptly bathed the world in a sea of cruor carmine. The tremoring sky tore itself asunder in a ragged, dimensional, gap. The boundless horizon tumultuously inverted a series of exploding stars, a tiny figure hurtling unrestrainedly towards the earth as an icy chakra worked to freeze the celestial commotion. 

Uchiha Madara stilled instinctively at the sensation, the hairs raising on the back of his neck as a fissure of cloudless lightning abruptly severed the monochrome twilight in twain. 

The graceless _shunshin_ he employed shattered knotted branches in his path, a series of unseen leaps struggling to settle the agonised breath stalling inside his lungs as he soared across the heavens to capture a small body in his arms. The sharp impact sent his mind reeling, his barely healed wounds screaming in agony as he hoped no one was there to witness his unexpectedly clumsy landing. 

_“Fuck!”_ Madara hissed, hating how unsettled the small figure made him feel. The little one’s barely-there breath at least alluded to life. A gentler and firmer grip settled the small body against his chest. There was soft but distinctly _male_ scent clinging to the boy’s skin, his beautifully serene features twisting sharply in sharp agony as a series viscous tears trailed carmine smears down his left cheek. 

Something shattered inside the ⍺lpha at the sight, the push and pull of a lifetime of memories spent beside his brother drawing a sharp comparison to the features of the child. He had no choice but to choke back a violent sob. 

“I-Izuna—,” He murmured, Mangekyō orbs obsessively tracing the curl of long black lashes, small lips inverted in uncharacteristic sorrow, messy blue-black hair darker than the midnight stratos and smooth brows scrunched with undeserved pain. It was enough to tear a hole in the older man’s heart, drunken footsteps leading him back the way he came to lay his back against a solid tree. 

A trickle of acidic tears reddened already exhausted eyes, the twenty-four-year-old feeling the last of his control snap as a heaving breath shook proud shoulders. There were several things things that differentiated this little boy, no older than seven, from his precious Otouto. His scent for one, his age for another. Yet, there was more that enough likeness to break the older man’s heart. 

Madara couldn’t take it anymore, shoulders crumbling in despair as he curled himself protectively around the precious treasure. It didn’t matter if he’d never seen this child in his life before, nor that the boy’s chakra was far too potent to belong to any Uchiha family but the main line. He had no doubt this boy was part of the Clan _._

The material of his wide-collared shirt, now desperately grasped in gloved-fingertips, was stitched with a familiar red and white uchiwa fan. Hauntingly pale skin also remained fragrant with the Clan’s infamous fire and ash scent, where the very universe seemed to bleed into focus at the astringent aroma. 

Strange though, that the caustic fragrance of fear belayed a softer sweetness the ⍺lpha rarely, if ever, came across among his kin. He felt an instinctive need to soothe and protect the owner of that scent, his bare forehead pressing against a smaller, pain-furrowed, brow as he found himself instinctively drenching the little one in his more potent hellfire, mahogany ash and darkness scent. 

The shinobi had no idea how long he stood there, shoulders heaving with silent tears as his legs finally decided to give out beneath him. His back slid numbly to the ground, trembling arms pulling the little one more firmly into his lap as primal black locks tumbled in a protective curtain around them. 

It seemed like a lifetime before the strange arrival stirred in his arms, the twenty-four-year-old feeling his world rearranging itself once more as immature, one-tamoe, Sharingan collided unseeingly with his. The colour of the iris was far too faded to be anchored in reality, a sense of heavy foreboding stalling the steady drip of saline from the Patriarch’s eyes as he clenched enraged fingers in the back of a child-like Uchiha shirt. 

Who the _fuck_ would dare to put a child under genjutsu?! 

“I’m sorry, little one.” His voice sounded rough and strained to his own ears, so unlike its usual smooth timbre and gruff confidence. “This is going to be a little uncomfortable.” Activating Mangekyō eyes to pull himself into the child’s unsuspecting mind, he sure as hell had no intention to allow an innocent seven-year-old to be captive inside his own mind. 

_* * * *_

_The world here existed in monotonous grey. A complex labyrinth of streets and artificially lighted homes superimposed themselves on high district walls, twisting corners and heavy darkness pridefully stamped with uchiwa-red and macerated-grey. Beyond the call of the impossibly large Mangekyō moon, the sky dyed the horizon blacker than ink._

_There were no stars here, no sight beyond what was shown, no sound, no life, no fire…no movement—._

_It was the pinnacle of unnatural, the vast Uchiha compound tilled like the earth of a silent graveyard and anointed in the blood of a hundred corpses. There was no existence for the living, no hope, no name, no pride, no Clan, no nothing…just a single scene played before premature Sharingan irises over and over and over again._

_With experienced speed and trained mercilessness, a deadly figure — enveloped in silky ebony hair and burning,_ burning, _carmine eyes — seared itself forever in the back of a tiny mind. Instinct was screaming at the observer to erase this bloodstained monster tearing his precious sanctum apart — to live disgustingly and crawl and pursue a path bathed in nothing but hate._

_Yet, after a while, nothing seemed to matter. Nothing but the drip, drip, drip of red blood, warm and sticky on his hands, and the overwhelming scent of_ _⍺lpha_ _/_ _βeta_ _fear. It was astringent and painful, dulling his senses and steeling his heart. It was absolute chaos in this nightmare, it was pain, it was numbness…it was the unknowing._

He _didn’t want to be here anymore; he didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to live; he didn’t want to breathe—._

_A gloved palm came to rest over aching ruby red eyes, blocking the sight of_ them _laying protectively over each other on bloodstained tatami…calling words and a name he did not recognize._

_Dull orbs turned slowly to collide with the unique dōjutsu_ _of his Clan, instinctively flinching back at the complex pattern within before a large body knelt on the ground before him._

_“It’ll be alright, child. I mean you no harm.” The man’s voice was warm — warmer than_ his _. Warmer than the ‘if you want to kill me, despise me, hate me, and live in an unsightly way... Run, and cling to life, and then some day, when you have the same eyes as I do, come before me—.’_

_Gentler than his lithe, pinwheel-eyed,_ nii-san. 

_Replacing the crow with this proud stranger surrounded in waves of primal black hair, long and spiky and textured like his own, and tired eyes creased with unwavering strength, power and age enough to disrupt the centre of this bloody prison. In this world of nothing, in this grey world coloured in red, the boy, the child, shifted. He turned, the touch warm and serene against his skin as a beautiful fiery-chakra cracked fissures in blood-stained walls and filled his nose with a soothing fire-summer-wind scent._

_“Look into my eyes.” The_ _⍺lpha_ _, there could be no doubt,_ _rumbled. Leaving no room for disobedience, the little one looked and looked without blinking. The bichrome nightmare slowly dissolved in a swirl of fire and chaos, his own howling cry shattering the night as time stalled._

_But the boy was no longer afraid, this fire, he knew, was part of him. The lightning, wind and ash soothed him._

_It was his rebirth…it was_ Clan _._

_Nameless, he gazed ahead. Wondering where the stranger came from as he was scooped into the circle of warm arms and a forehead came to rest against the top of his head. The man’s wild mane tickled his fingers, prompting him to grasp palmfuls of ebony strands as he openly drank in the offered affection._

_Finally. Finally, he could escape here_ . 

_* * * *_

Shivering subconsciously the moment reality formed around him once more, Uchiha Madara struggled to reconcile himself with the image of bloody genocide permanently seared in the back of his mind. A terribly potent rage was boiling the depths of his blood, a frustrated hiss violently tickling the top of spiky black locks. 

The Uchiha Patriarch had never in his life seen a clansman put a _child_ under _Tsukuyomi_ before, in fact he was sure it had been outlawed to use against kin for centuries. It was no wonder the boy’s eyes had begun bleeding in a premature attempt to awaken the Mangekyō without his Sharingan. The ⍺lpha could still recall the towering genjutsu moon that painted the sky of that inverted, nightmare, world. 

That exotic, six-point, black and red, sphere had been a symbol of the boy’s bloodline emergence. Though, the little one clearly did not have the coils to sustain the power or visual prowess to control it. 

Glancing down to make sure his charge was at least awake; he could only breathe a sigh of relief as one-tamoed Sharingan quickly faded to black. The boy’s vision had already been scarred with far too much bloodshed, his small shoulders shaking with overwhelming fear as a quiet weight shifted uncomfortably against his hip. 

“Do you want to walk?” He growled, not seeming to mind when there was no reply to his query but small fingers curling rather desperately in the strands of his hair. A small nose had come to rest against the oily gland behind his ear, almost clawing at the Patriarch’s back the moment the older man prepared to remove him from his chest. 

“Very well. We’ll return home soon.” 

“Make sure you keep quiet, it’s dangerous here.” The half-mile trek home was quietly interspersed with a small forehead drooping against his shoulder as he instinctively sweetened the simmering emotions surrounding his ⍺lpha scent. The little one seemed soothed by his presence rather than agitated, a first for the Uchiha for many reasons. 

When he asked for a name, he merely received a confused tilt of his charge’s head. The seven-year-old’s voice seemed to have completely faded, most likely from the trauma he experienced. Either way, Madara couldn’t keep calling the seven-year-old ‘boy’ for the foreseeable future. Pondering his current predicament as he cleared the last few leaps across towering treetops, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he crossed the border into Uchiha territory. A nod of gratitude and wave of his palm quickly dispersed a group of shinobi anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

A few the younger ones lingered with intent of making sure their Clan Head was alive. Yet, when they spotted the small frame curled against his side, they didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask questions. Madara himself was on the brink of exhaustion, proud shoulders straining to keep upright as he cleared the last few meters to the main house. 

“Kagami,” He called decisively once inside, the shoji doors opening with a quiet snap as he hastily removed his shoes by the engawa. “Fetch Aya-san for me, would you? I need her medical expertise.” 

“Are you injured?” His younger cousin inquired, curly black hair a mess of just-woken from a deep sleep as he openly stared at the Patrairch’s approach. 

“Not enough to warrant a visit from the old-bag myself, but someone else needs her.” He nodded to the child in his arms, watching as the fourteen-year-old obediently vanished into the night with a quiet nod. Madara dragged himself to his bedroom not long after, intent on putting the dazed child down to sleep as he nursed a well-deserved bottle of sake. The boy clung to him fiercely however, almost afraid that if he let the older man go, he too would disappear from his sight and be taken away by the cruel crow. 

In the light of a single oil candle, the twenty-four-year-old ⍺lpha had no choice but to offer his lap for the boy’s head as small fingers twisted viciously in his clan tunic. He still reeked of blood and sweat, his fight with Hashirama had not been an easy to survive and it was likely that he too would pass out soon. 

But he had decided not do so until he made sure his charge was looked over by a medic. 

* * * * 

“You never cease to amaze me, Madara-sama. Where did you find the boy?” An aged clanswoman inquired, drawing tired black eyes from an ancient scroll spread in the Uchiha Patriarch’s lap as he set down the bottle of sake he just brought to his lips. The twenty-four-year-old had been nursing the same one for the past hour, his mind too distracted to really pursue the research he had been delving into before his battle with Hashirama. 

“He fell from the sky, believe it or not.” He mused, rudely dismissing the woman’s disbelieving scowl with a shrug as he tipped his head back against the wall. He deliberately kept the dimensional tear he had seen silent, an unexpected shiver transversing his spine as he recalled the unawakened Mangekyō reflected on the surface of the genjutsu world's moon. There was something otherworldly about it, something so powerful and overwhelming it was enough to send his skin crawling. 

His new charge was thankfully fast asleep, content with having his body as close to his protector as possible as he slumbered against a powerful thigh. Aya was gentle when she moved him, laying him between the sheets of a warm futon before brushing inky black strands from a pale forehead. 

“He’s definitely Uchiha,” She noted, frowning in concern when gentle green chakra came in contact with a frantically beating heart. The influx of Clan specific despair she found there was unnatural on one so young, almost as unnatural as the sensation of her kin awakening their bloodline after horrific loss. Passing her palm over the boy’s smooth forehead to assess a slight spike in temperature and the throb of small temples, she soon yanked her hand back with a distressed cry. 

“Madara! Why are this child’s chakra pathways such a mess?! His mind is in utter chaos! Who in their right mind would place a mailable cognizance under a genjutsu powerful enough to affect his growth?! Did you—!” 

The previously calm aura surrounding the ⍺lpha stirred menacingly, a flash of rage coaxing three-tamoes to twine ominously in his visible eye as fragile paper crumpled beneath clenched fingertips. The Uchiha Patriarch snarled viciously at the βeta for reminding him of that fact, the atmosphere turning acrid with his rage as he fought down a desperately howling need to separate the bitch from his charge. 

Her long black hair, streaked with and pulled in a bun, tumbled from its loose tie as she waved his aggressive posturing aside like he was a pup. Extracting her hand from the boy’s forehead, she did her best to soothe the absolute chaos that seemed to consume her Clan Leader’s mind. She was no expert at healing mental trauma, not to the degree the little one needed. In fact, she doubted anyone had ever thought it would be needed in their own Clan. They may have been in possession of the world’s most powerful genjutsu, yet it was _never_ meant to be used against one of their own. 

“I know it wasn’t you, boy. It couldn’t have been. You are too honourable to even ponder that for a second.” She said reassuringly. “Uchiha Madara may be a brute but he is no sadist. He would never harm an Uchiha to that degree.” Gesturing for the extra bottle of sake the Lord had gathered but not drunk yet, she brought the cool liquid to her lips with a quiet sigh. The Uchiha Patriarch didn’t need to voice the question flickering so vividly in his eyes, Aya understood him too well. 

His surge of overprotectiveness was just starting, really. 

“His chakra is almost completely depleted, some quiet and calm should restore his coils in a few days. As for his mind, it’s currently too distorted for me assess or heal. We’ll have to work on that at a later time when he’s more stable.” 

“I don’t know what he saw or what he lived through; all I know is that it’s not unlikely if lesions were to surface. It might affect his personality, mental growth or speech in the future.” 

“Will he be alright?” Madara asked quietly, feeling suddenly out of his depth as he anxiously cast dark eyes over the slumbering boy unaware of their conversation. He didn’t like the possibility of such a small child being harmed in such a torturous way, it made him feel responsible for not being able to help sooner. 

“In time, yes.” Aya hummed, her no-nonsense attitude crumbling slightly as she took a steady breath. “This should be kept between ourselves for now. I can’t be entirely certain but the boy seems to be an Ωmega. He—.” 

“Ωmega?!” The Patriarch started. “Isn’t that impossible?! The Uchiha clan have never produced Ωmega. We are predominantly known as pure ⍺lpha, though the occasional βeta does spring up.” 

“Yet the Sharingan is inherited through the matrilineal line. Considering the foundation of the Uchiha, it means only one thing. There had to have been at least _one_ Ωmega born into this Clan. In fact, I can guarantee you there was. You must have read that tablet, right?” 

“He was the very founder this Clan.” 

“Indra.” Madara breathed in surprise, dark eyes flicking towards the slumbering child in wonder. It would be a great asset to know Ωmega could be born in their Clan, they had always had trouble producing pure offspring to preserve the strongest traits of their bloodline. Yet, with this—. 

“Does the boy have a name?” Shaking his head in the negative, the twenty-four-year-old turned his eyes to the scroll spread in his lap as he pondered the strange twist of fate present in the inked contents. There, at the start, carefully rendered and painted, was a six-pointed Mangekyō beneath the curl of ancient letters. 

He recognized the exotic script, a painstaking portrait of Sharingan eyes in various stages of development and uses. 

“Indra.” He said. “He’ll be known as Uchiha Indra from now. Like our forefather, it will be his destiny to carry the hope of our Clan.” Tracing the complex script with the pad of his finger, the foreign swirls decoded themselves at his sight. 

इंद्रा, it read with loving reverence. 

団扇 इंद्रा, he brushed with his own ink on the generational scroll never far from his desk. Uchiha Indra would be the hope of their future. 

* * * * 

  


* * *

[1]  Naka-no-Kawa (南賀ノ川)– The Naka river at the edge of Uchiha territory. 

戦争の舞 - Senso no Mae - Dance of War  
偃月一 - Engetsu Ichi - First Crescent Moon 


	2. 偃月二: The Midnight Stratos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this is so late~! I've been on a writing binge with several stories vying for my attention. I'm not going to say much as I'm currently exhausted and just want this chapter out of my hair. It's been dragging for a few weeks now and I have other endeavours I'd like to pursue. 
> 
> Hmm, I don't think there's much a warning needed for this chapter as it's pretty mild and fluffy. But I hope you can enjoy the interactions between Madara and Indra (Sasuke). :)

“Remember, little Indra,” Aya hummed as she ran a brush through silken black strands before nimbly snipping some of the boy’s messier bangs into a more manageable order. “Uchiha shinobi only cut their hair when they lose a battle.” Gathering unique chin-length locks on either side of the boy’s head, the old ꞵeta carefully secured twin, chin-length, parts with a fold of white ribbon in the centre of each. 

“The length of one’s hair is used to gauge strength and prowess on the battlefield.” The more manageable style she told her audience to maintain, was adapted from warriors refining their skill in Uchiha taijutsu and ninjutsu. It was designed to keep the feral spikes from intervening in battle until such a time they were strong enough to leave it wild and untied down their backs like Madara. 

Indra didn’t particularly mind listening to stories of Clan lore, nodding along cautiously as he swayed tiny legs over the edge of the main-house _engawa._ The early morning air was surprisingly brisk that day, the long bell sleeves of his Uchiha tunic thankfully warm and long enough conceal curious fingertips from sight. 

Coloured a surprising unpigmented white; the traditional uchiwa fan emblazoned on his back was embroidered in delicate arctic-carmine thread. The newest member of the Clan stood out amongst the rich blues and blacks worn by his kin, the traditional high collar of his uniform partially secreting away a sorrowful expression turning down pale lips. 

Curious black eyes were obsessively scanning the back garden for his ⍺lpha protector, a moue of discontent quivered his bottom lip as the older man’s encompassing scent was nowhere near close enough to detect. The air may have been fragrant with the blossoming cherry trees, flowering wisteria and white spider lilies. Yet, there was no fiery mahogany-ash, blood and petrichor to soothe the discomfort weighing down his limbs. 

Indra didn’t particularly like others touching him, even if Aya never hurt him. It simply wasn’t _Madara_ and if it wasn’t Madara, Indra didn’t find any joy in it. If what she said was right however, it meant the Patriarch was the strongest shinobi in all the land. The ⍺lpha’s hair was certainly the longest and wildest Indra had ever seen, the strands, surprisingly soft and pliable in his hands, often times settled in his grasp the moment he was pulled in a warm embrace or picked up by the older man to soothe his fears. 

Even since wakening from that terrible nightmare, Indra felt like he was seeing the world through the reverse-side of a mirror. The sensation of Uchiha and Clan was familiar, the sound of _family_ was familiar. Yet, everything was fundamentally different inside, distorted and broken, almost as if he was experiencing things entirely new to him superimposed on the old. The powerful Patriarch that found him was never far from his side however, always willing to shield him or soothe his pain when terrible visions made him scream himself hoarse at night. 

The seven-year-old had gotten used to Madara’s presence constantly by his side, refusing to be in anyone else’s proximity unless the raven-haired shinobi was there to assure him they wouldn’t hurt him. Or a large palm caressed the top of his head to calm his nerves. As such; the twenty-four-year-old become the only stability to appease the little one’s confusion blossoming in fits and starts during the day. 

Sometimes Indra dreamed of being called by another name, living among other Uchiha with kind and gentle smiles. Other times, he envisioned the lands they were currently standing on desecrated by death and destruction, rivers of blood staining white complex walls and a dark crow freezing his soul with the eyes of their clan—. 

“Nnngh!” Whimpering anxiously at his own thoughts, Indra pulled knobby knees close to his chest as he wondered why his valiant Madara decided to leave him today. He was curling away from the old ꞵeta ruffling messy stratos-black curls at the back of his head, pressing his forehead against the skin of his thighs to calm the uncomfortable seize of his heart in his chest. 

Indra had long ago decided he didn’t need much to be happy. He was a good boy; he wasn’t selfish or caused trouble or played pranks on the staff like Kagami did. Nor did he cry if he could help it. He wanted to be fearless and strong like his protector. The seven-year-old just didn’t want to be alone right now, the Patriarch’s name curling mournfully on the tip of his tongue as he flinched away the moment Aya tried to rub comforting circles on his back. 

“It’ll be alright, Indra.” The woman chuckled. “The irritable little Lord is merely attending to Clan business today. He’ll be by in a few hours to collect his precious Prince.” 

Furrowing dark brows in confusion at the woman’s words, dull onyx orbs lifted momentarily to scan the towering tree line to disprove her ridiculous theory. Uchiha Madara would _never_ leave him that long, he was just—. 

“Don’t fret, boy. Uchiha Madara is the Lord of this Clan, there are many things he has to take care of away from prying eyes. Most of those things are not suitable young boys to see. It’s just his way of protecting you from danger.” 

_Madara_ always _protected him danger,_ Indra thought. _But what if Madara was the one that needed protecting?_ Worrying a luscious lip between tugging teeth, the little Ωmega uncurled himself from the anxious ball he rolled himself in before leaping away from the dark haired kunoichi. He was headed toward the garden instead, stopping to trail curious fingertips through dancing silvergrass leaves and laughing softly at their tickling touch against pale skin. 

The fabric of his shorts was soft and pliable as he knelt, hidden fingers picking at creeping phlox flowers dotting the ground before moving on to the brilliant lime hydrangea still awaiting their summery swatch of blue paint. He was smart enough to know adults tended to lose interest when children kept themselves busy, sandaled feet leading him to the edge of the large koi pond before he crouched curiously on the traditional carmine bridge. 

It didn’t take long for his minder to disappear into the house with a warning to stay out of trouble, blank black eyes gazing at the rippling water to follow jumping fish scales glint vividly in the morning sun. Even with his underdeveloped senses and pounding pulsebeat, Indra spooled enough courage around his little heart to slip away from Aya-san and steel his resolve to explore the inner Uchiha district. 

The seven-year-old may not have been experienced in tracking other shinobi or sensing chakra quite as well as his protector did, but he was determined to find his favourite ⍺lpha before Aya-san came looking. There had always been a strange, transcendent, connection tying him to Madara the moment they met, a curious young nose able to discern the clarion dark scent rising among a sea of acrid dullness and nauseating earthen Clan blood. 

Not only that, but Indra could feel the lap of his Patriarch’s fiery chakra whenever he concentrated hard enough. Following that unique, spicy, trail now, he winced internally at the sharp pain the sensation bubbled anxiously through his veins. That blistering indigo-darkness was swirling up into the sky like a beacon, calling the child forth to soothe his fears in its encompassing embrace. 

Even though an unusually high number of unknown scents flooded what was known as clan-only territory, Indra continued to place one sandaled foot in front of the other. In his mind, it wouldn’t do to leave Madara all by himself. He would protect the older shinobi with everything he had, even if a slow-peaking terror pricked the back of his neck the moment a stoic guardsman spotted his masked approach. 

“Wait a moment, kid! You’re not supposed—!” Startled by the unknown hand reaching to catch his shoulder, Indra instinctively darted ahead with a starlight agility rarely seen outside the main family line. He didn’t want to get caught just yet; it had barely been an _hour_ since he escaped Aya-san’s strict gaze. 

If she found him, she would be _so_ angry! 

He shot straight into the centre of a considerable ball of tension, Clan houses and shops carefully sealed and boarded with the woman and children safely inside as only the elite warriors seemed to spill into the towering meeting place at the centre of the family enclave. 

“M-Madara?” He called softly, frowning in frustration when his voice was nothing more than a pin drop in the centre of screaming dissonance. There were so many shinobi spread on the grounds before him, a strange division marking the dark blues and blacks of his Clan on the right and another, in white, to the left. 

“On this day, let it be witnessed that the Uchiha stand to extend our prestige and honour into the roots of Konohagakura no Sato, to—.“ Tuning out the call of the elder’s voice, Indra frowned at the strange symbol engraved on the fluttering white _jirushi **[1]** _ displayed next to their black war banner. He fancied the uchiwa fan looked prouder and more elegant than its reluctant, black-forked, counterpart—. 

“Ah! M-Madara! Madara!” All thought flew from Indra’s head as he spotted his regal ⍺lpha in the centre of spiralling pandemonium. The little Uchiha didn’t think to stop, ducking away from Kagami’s wide eyed gaze the moment the teen noticed his presence at the back of the crowd. Even as his short stature weaved an excitable path through the black part of the crowd, he refused to stop. 

It was difficult not to get overwhelmed in the sea of agitated ⍺lpha/ꞵeta pheromones saturating the air; Indra refusing to look back until small fingers wound in Madara’s white obi. He was happily pressing his forehead against the older man’s waist, shivering slightly at the sharp spike of anxiety assailing his companion’s usually soothing scent. 

Surprised onyx orbs were glancing over the Patriarch’s shoulder to collide with his own, a brief flash of fear creasing the premature lines of age drawn beneath the Prime ⍺lpha’s gaze before a gloved hand subtly pushed the boy more fully behind his back. There was a terrifying frown creasing the older man’s brows, the Uchiha Patriarch stilling in the process of a diplomatic handshake as he shivered at the sweet face peering up at him from his hip. 

“Indra, why—.” 

“M-Madara-ji  [2]  ?” The boy inquired softly, unaware of his surroundings beyond the presence of his protector as the older Uchiha subtly shifted his posture to stand more possessively in front of the tiny Ωmega. He didn’t want the Senju to realize who or what he was, the oily scent gland on his wrist coming up to drench the little boy’s still developing secretor at the base of his neck in his own ⍺lpha scent. 

“Why did you leave?” Unable to contain the instinctive flare of primal protectiveness flooding the depths of his veins at the appearance of his greatest treasure in the centre of what would have been hostile territory, Madara ground sharpening fangs on his tongue until the taste of nickel and iron assaulted his senses. 

He didn’t know how to answer the seven-year-old’s unspoken question, nor did he have much patience to explain the intricate Clan politics currently in play in the background of this entire event. 

_Fuck!_ The ink on the treaty was barely dry and he already felt himself regretting his choice, narrowing a deadly glare at Hashirama the moment the man’s curious brown eyes flitted over the boy fearfully but bravely peeking out from behind the Uchiha Patriarch’s thigh. 

“Is that…” He trailed off, a sting of guilt bowing the man’s head in brief submission when he traced a startling resemblance to Madara’s dead brother. The Patriarch’s gloved hand instantly dropped his companion’s in reply, a subvocal growl resounding near deafeningly in the back of his throat as a sharp, astringent, aggressiveness flooded the dark-haired Uchiha’s previous calm civility. 

“Does it matter, Senju? He’s dead.” At their backs, the Uchiha stiffened in response to their Prime’s roiling upset, forcing Hashirama to play peacemaker by lowering his gaze to the ground and raising his hands in a placating gesture. 

He could only watch with growing dread as a possessive palm came to rest against the back of the little child’s neck to appease the sudden scorched-almond curl of distress radiating from the boy’s tiny body. 

With nothing else to impart, the Uchiha Patriarch waved his hand in dismissive anger. 

“Your treaty has been signed. You may join us for the outdoor tea ceremony hosted by the elders later this evening or leave. Your choice.” With that, Madara surprised the circle of warriors surrounding him by gathering the beautiful child in his arms and vanishing in a flare of indigo-chakra and swirling leaves. 

The shunshin he executed, so quick, it appeared no one was there a mere millisecond before. Barely a trace of his powerful mahogany-ash and petrichor scent was left before it _too_ vanished with the crowd’s murmured dread. 

* * * * 

“Are you alright, Indra?” Contrite onyx eyes collided with the Patriarch’s distressed Sharingan-red, small palms coming up to cup the older man’s cheeks as a furrow creased dark brows. They had stopped in a flowering meadow not far from the Naka riverbank, a soft exhalation of wintersweet and wisteria scent fanning across the twenty-four-year-old’s senses before a small forehead came to rest endearingly against the side of his neck. 

“Hn.” The young Uchiha responded softly, the previously aching verdant-abandonment in his Ωmega fragrance settling down to a quieter minty-contentment as the ⍺lpha’s encompassing presence finally surrounded him the way he wanted since he woke that morning. 

Madara guided them to sit on a grassy outcrop in the middle of the silent Clan enclave, the towering beryl-grass stems swaying softly in the breeze as a surprised laugh tumbled from pale lips the instant his charge breathed a typical Uchiha response. It was something Aya told him the boy learned from _him_ , an endearing grumpiness and noncommittal answer that made it _exceedingly_ difficult to communicate. 

Indra didn’t seem to be much of a talker, however. Whether it was in response to the trauma he experienced, an inherent shyness suffusing young limbs or because he was a deeply insecure child, the Patriarch couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that it didn’t play much into the inherent innocence clinging to the little one’s frame or the joy he drew from every, tiny, sound spilling from those petal soft peony-lips. 

“Mind telling me why you left Aya-san when I specifically told her to look after you?” The Uchiha enquired, watching curiously as a head of raven-blue hair pulled away from his chest to meet a slowly cycling Sharingan. 

A single raised brow had the Ωmega frowning with a vicious scowl. 

“If you left to protect me, I left to p-protect y-you.” Indra decided, too ashamed to say the real reason he got himself in trouble. He was desperately afraid without Madara-ji by his side; anxious, terrified, _convinced_ he’d find his nightmares following him into the real world. That for every natural blink of his eye, he’d be back inside that cruor carmine world with his family massacred at his feet—. 

Madara needed only one look at his charge for his anger to evaporate. The terrifying fear flickering, clear as day, in the little one’s falsely brave eyes or the guilty flush of his cheeks; creased the corner of the elder’s brow. Relaxing previously intimidating features into a more open expression, the Uchiha Patriarch nonchalantly leaned his elbows back on the grass as he propped up an absent knee. 

A deep breath was tumbling from pale lips instead, the dark blue of his Clan uniform intimating a vivid contrast to the white of the little Ωmega’s. Those innocent onyx orbs, even whilst knowing the bloody agony of their family dōjutsu, refused to leave Madara’s intimidating presence. The flimmering spark of affection he found reflected so sincerely in their depths was decidedly warm, bringing a contented calm to stoic features. 

“I see,” Madara hummed, gloved fingertips tilting the boy’s submissively bowed head as a small body laid anxiously against his side. The brief intimacy of the moment lasting only as long the ⍺lpha’s exasperated sigh, a scowl of discontent carving itself more firmly onto darkly apathetic features. 

“I thank you for thinking of me, little one. But next time, _don’t_ defy me. It’s Aya and Kagami’s duty to protect you when I’m not there.” Even though the seven-year-old nodded his reluctant understanding at the order, Madara wasn’t naïve enough to believe his little Uchiha would actually obey him. 

No, the boy held far too much honour and pride to bend to the rules. Indra would, after all, defy any rule to stay by Madara’s side a little longer just as much as the elder would do the same. Even if it meant getting scolded or facing the odds against impossible battlefields—. 

“Hn.” The older male approved, knowing instinctively what was going through the little Ωmega’s mind merely by observing the furrow of his brow. 

“Silly child.” Catching hold of a delicate coil of white ribbon in the boy’s lengthy left bang, gloved fingertips stroked the tie as he used his free hand to do the same to the bang on the right. It had been a long time since he last saw this hairstyle in his Clan, he mused. A soft smile kissing the stoic curve of his lips as Indra practically clambered over his lap to bring their foreheads together in an affectionate caress. 

If nothing else, the boy was an affectionate child. Strange though, that he seemed to shy away from every other touch except the Patriarch’s. It should have brought forth disturbing implications, yet the ⍺lpha was nothing if not inordinately pleased by the little one’s sole reliance on him. It soothed the darker more primal howl of his soul that still mourned the loss of his little brother…that _needed_ to be able to protect his Clan and preserve something more beautiful than war—. 

“You changed your hair.” Madara noted, swiftly pulling his mind away from the spiralling downturn his thoughts had taken as he curled his arms around a small frame to bring them closer. A curious nose had lifted to find the mating gland on the side of the older man’s neck, sending a _wrong-not-yet_ tingle down the demon’s spine as Indra unknowingly perfumed the Patriarch’s contended summer-wind aroma with an immature milky Ωmega claim. 

Many a civilian would read the act as innocent affection between family members or prospective mates. Yet, the mere thought of it set something forbidden afire in Madara’s blood. He was not used to such regard from others, especially since he was born into the stricter of the main Uchiha lines and the heir of the Clan. 

It brought his mind spiralling back to reality, the tenseness winding his frame relaxing a few seconds later as curious fingertips wound themselves in the thigh-length spikes of his hair. It reminded the twenty-four-year-old just how young and insecure Indra was, desperately clinging to his Patriarch’s frame and every, small, acknowledgement the Uchiha deigned him worthy of. 

“You like my hair, don’t you?” The elder mused, Uchiha black eyes closing with a tiny smile as the raven-haired Ωmega nodded shyly against the side of his neck. “Why?” He poked Indra’s side to draw a squeal of surprise from soft lips, a brush of heated air kissing Madara’s skin before a quiet giggle lit up the air around them. 

Laying them on the ground, side-by-side, with their foreheads pressed together in an intimate caress; the former fears and concerns Madara held in meeting the Senju abruptly drained from his limbs. He was openly basking in the contented little purr drifting from the back of Indra’s throat, never before having had the pleasure of hearing an Ωmega’s true contentedness. It satisfied something terrifyingly dark and primal in the depths of the older Uchiha’s lungs, prematurely age-lined eyes drooping in exhaustion before he automatically titled his head into curious fingers carding through midnight black coils. 

“It marks you as strongest.” Indra wisely imparted. “Aya said Uchiha warriors never cut their hair, only when they lose a battle. I-I like yours, it’s long and smells nice…longer than any I’ve ever seen—.” Suddenly shy about the implication of his confession, Indra burrowed himself against an ankle-length tunic as he gathered as much as the lush strands to hide himself behind. 

His protector merely chuckled in response, his own fingers carding through the curls at the back of Indra’s head before tugging lightly on the long, bound, bangs hanging like chin-length curtains against the side of his face. 

“Hn.” The Patriarch smiled. “I see you too have decided to become a shinobi.” Madara inquired with a smirk, watching with hidden delight when a flutter of shy lashes coloured a faint dusting of pink across pale cheeks. Indra was nodding in affirmative, feeling too tired to move as they observed downy-white clouds drifting by. 

“Good. I look forward to teaching you. You never know, maybe your hair will outgrow mine.” The twenty-four-year-old mused, thinking back to the overwhelming power he encountered on the night of the boy’s arrival. He was still trying to figure out where the Uchiha treasure had come from, a faint inkling in the back of his mind far too aware that the genjutsu the boy was trapped in felt far too real to be considered anything but based in reality. 

Either way, he was not in the mood to ponder the implications behind such a bloody scene. Well, at least not right now. Madara was exhausted enough dealing with Hashirama and keeping the man’s prejudiced brother off Uchiha lands. They may have made peace but Madara was _not_ going to allow that demon ꞵeta an opportunity to get close to his little Indra. 

_No,_ not until Madara was sure the seven-year-old was strong and ruthless enough to kill any who posed a threat when he was not there to protect him. Indra wouldn’t be raised as a weak Ωmega meant to become the Clan’s possession. He’d be raised as a warrior far more beautiful and deadly and constantly by Madara’s side than anyone had ever seen. 

They were remaking the future of shinobi, after all. There was no need to cling to outdated customs and suppressions simply because of preconceived ideals. The Uchiha Patriarch had always been a forward thinker, something he was not inclined to lose now. 

Especially not when the first Ωmega to be born into their Clan in millennia graced their ranks with the promise of a better future. 

* * * * 

He woke, beholden to the vast six-pointed, ebon-sanguine moon carved inside the depths mind. _Sasuke_ sobbed softly, cringing internally as he scented the abrupt and violent rage igniting Madara-ji’s scorching indigo chakra. Dazed red eyes were tracing a familiar face sitting quietly beside his bed, the curly haired boy reaching out momentarily to grasp his hand in comfort as Shisui hummed a quiet, soothing, appeasement. 

“It’ll be alright, Indra. Madara-sama is just a bit upset.” Frowning softly in confusion at the impossibility of those words, Sasuke tilted his head dazedly to the side as he latched himself onto the older teen. He thought his cousin was dead, drowned not too long ago in the Naka River. He could even remember watching his quietly content world unravelling itself over the edge of Nii-san’s shoulder the moment Tekka and Inabi accused—. 

A strange sense of duality followed Sasuke into hazed wakefulness, a quiet whimper of distress souring the previously calm of his scent as his vision blanked. A violently chocked sob quickly pushed aside the flickering image of Tou-sama and Kaa-chan reaching to him in death, an achingly familiar figure stepping forward to—. 

“S-Shisui-nii!” Sasuke cried, jagged nails digging into kunai calloused palms as the older boy sighed and pulled his cowering form from beneath mahogany-ash scented sheets. Sasuke didn’t want to leave his safe space right now, the nest Madara helped him build was a comforting reminder that at least _one_ person would always be with him. 

But he also _didn’t_ want to be alone right now. 

Shisui remained warm against his side, a frustrated fist coming up to rub shamefully at the flood of tears spilling down childlike cheeks. Tou-sama always said he was weak, not good enough. Not like—. Angry at the feeblemindedness he displayed, Sasuke tried not to flinch at the raised voices travelling down the length of the mainhouse hallway several moments later. 

His Madara sounded absolutely furious, the man’s low rumbling baritone bearing an icy-cold hatred so violent the seven-year-old felt himself freezing momentarily in fear. Though, instinctively, he knew the older man would never hurt him intentionally. The closer they drew to the isolated war room however, the more impatient Shisui became. 

A clear huff of irritation parted pale lips as the curly-haired boy dragged an irritable palm through his locks. He didn’t even bother announcing their arrival, simply throwing open the fusuma doors with a violent _clack_ before inserting himself fearlessly in the centre of pandemonium. 

The sealed room flickered in the light of several oil candles, a group of Uchiha elders staring at them incredulously from behind a low oak table before attempting to regain the wavering attention of their Clan Lord before he truly lost his temper. 

“Madara! How dare you allow—.” Holding up hand in command for silence, the Uchiha Patriarch shifted to the side concernedly as he scented the salty-warmth of tears and apprehension spiralling from the skin of his little Indra. He was standing defiantly across the Council of Elders, arms crossed irritably over his chest as the previous anger he displayed simmered to a low, deadly, rumble in his chest. 

Holding out a hand for Indra to come to his side, the Patriarch found himself momentarily panicked when the child took several long moments before finally lifting his head away from Kagami’s hip. The terrified sorrow reflected in his eyes drawing a surprised gasp from the Madara’s lips. 

“Go on.” _Shisui_ murmured in Sasuke’s ear, a gentle smile and calloused palm propelling him towards the most angered ⍺lpha in the room. Madara was emitting a bitter-acridness, his rage attuned and directed implicitly at the group of elders occupying the other side of the room. In the centre of the table that separated them was a scroll the ⍺lpha refused to look at, the unparalleled fury in his eyes almost enough to melt the thing through the table. 

“Indra had a nightmare.” Sasuke refused to feel intimidated by the kin of his Clan. They smelled weak and submissive right now, too watery and weary to stand up to the might of Lord Madara’s spiralling mahogany-ash scent. Resting an aching forehead against his protector’s side, the seven-year-old said nothing as he was pulled into strong arms and settled on the man’s hip. 

His fingers instantly twined in thigh-length black locks, a sigh spilling from his lips before a trickle of happiness slowly drained the former sorrow and tension from his limbs. Madara was asking him softly if he was alright, a dazed but aching shake of his head superimposing a new duality over his mind as _Indra_ whined negatively. 

He wasn’t alright, he didn’t like this room…the atmosphere. Confused and split in the middle with two sets of memories, Indra settled only when a calming kiss tickled the corner of his brow. 

Being by the Madara’s side swiftly settled the confusion he found upon waking that night. Closing the weak flicker of his Sharingan orbs, Indra melted in Madara’s arms when a ungloved palm came to cup the back of his neck. A low shushing sound easing the upset winding and twisting down the bow of his spine. It was—. 

“You cannot be serious, Lord Madara. This child—.” 

“Silence.” The Uchiha Patriarch rumbled; gruff voice layered with a subvocal growl of warning as he turned his back on the elders dismissively. “I’ve already made up my mind. I also warned you before.” 

“Tajima may have allowed you leeway in the running this Clan but I am _not_ him. If you believe you are here to make decisions for me, you are very, _very_ , wrong.” A deadly silence seemed to descend upon the four corners of the room, Kagami holding the door open for his older cousin as Madara glared over his shoulder for one last parting shot. 

“The _next_ time one of you attempt to force me into a marriage behind my back, you’ll find yourself scattered among the ashes of the dead.” 

“You cannot continue without an Heir, you stupid boy!” Haru hissed in return, wrinkled features scowling at the impudence of the boy bold enough to interrupt their meeting. “You—.” 

“I already have an Heir.” Madara returned calmly, motioning to the large generational scroll, tied in gold tassel, propped against the far wall. He had made that notation the first night he discovered his treasure, it was not a privilege he would ever visit upon anyone else. 

“Uchiha Indra.” The way his palm lingered on the back of his companion’s neck spoke volumes, a quiet kiss caressing the top of the boy’s head before he left. Disappearing deeper into the Uchiha stronghold, Madara quietly interrogated Kagami about the little Ωmega’s state of being and what lead to it. A sleepy forehead was lolling lazily against his shoulder, contented puffs of air caressing the side of his neck before the little one curled as close as the twenty-four-year-old would allow. 

Madara had had enough of dealing with fucking underhanded politics today, the meeting with the Senju earlier that day having been more than enough to shatter what little control he had on his legendary temper. Never mind coming home from an excruciating outdoor tea ceremony to find the Clan Elders had been conspiring to get him married behind his back. 

_Fuck!_ They didn’t even seem to care that Izuna wasn’t even dead for a traditional mourning period yet. They merely wanted to gain foothold in politics again now that the Uchiha were establishing themselves as founders of an important alliance—. 

“Madara-ji? Bed?” Indra murmured quietly, drawing a chuckle from the ⍺lpha’s lips as he nodded. Definitely. He had more than enough of one day. Tomorrow would open a new hell too, especially since he noted Kagami relaying the news of a Hyuuga contingent circling the border between Uchiha and Senju land. 

“Right. Bed, little one.” He sighed, scrubbing a palm across exhausted features as he tumbled the seven-year-old back onto the rumpled sheets and pillows of his nest. The Patriarch didn’t even flinch when tiny hands pulled him down too, not caring for the expensive dark blue yukata still dressing the elder’s frame or Kagami chuckling in amusement behind their backs. 

Madara, too tired to protest, allowed onyx eyes to flutter behind pale lids before he curled a possessive arm around the squirming Ωmega to calm him into amore restive state. As things stood, he’d merely rest his eyes for a few hours…a few moments of reprieve before the cycle of madness started in the morning again. 

* * * * 

  


* * *

[1]  Jirushi (印) – War Insignia Banner 

[2]  Oji (叔父) – Uncle, term of endearment from Sasuke when he thinks he’s in trouble. 

偃月二 - Engetsu Ni - Second Crescent Moon 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading loves!~ I really appreciate it! If I can beg for a tiny review or query I'd be eternally grateful to you! Also, just a note, in the last part of the chapter, Indra referred to himself as Sasuke. It's not a mistake in my writing, it's done deliberately. 
> 
> The reasoning behind that will eventually be explained but for now, thank you so much stopping by! I'll see you guys soon for another story or chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading my darlings! Please leave me a little review of how you found it. I welcome any comments and question relating to the plot. I do love discussing theories and such if you aren't shy. :) 
> 
> Yours  
> Chocolate Carnival


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